


control room

by SerpentineJ



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015), The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: M/M, Napollya - Freeform, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, PWP, ep related: s04e09 The Gurnius Affair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-26 04:32:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4990357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerpentineJ/pseuds/SerpentineJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya leans in close, arms braced around Napoleon, and looks at him.</p><p>"I can't take much more of this." Napoleon murmurs, and, oh, Illya knows he's talking about the electrical probes atattched to his forehead, but seeing Napoleon here, restrained, arms above his head, jerking helplessly against his bonds, is giving him all kinds of inappropriate ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	control room

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: i had a shitty day so i wrote 3k words of kinky pwp napollya. ofc. technically this is classic muncle but you could read it as movie muncle i suppose- some of the stuff may not be classic period-accurate, mostly because i don't feel like looking up if they had vibrators in the 1960s

Illya leans in close, arms braced around Napoleon, and looks at him.

"I can't take much more of this." Napoleon murmurs, and, oh, Illya knows he's talking about the electrical probes atattched to his forehead, but seeing Napoleon here, restrained, arms above his head, jerking helplessly against his bonds, is giving him all kinds of inappropriate ideas.

He's so, so tempted to close the gap between them- to press himself against Solo, to bury his nose in the crook of his neck and feel the erratic rise and fall of his ribcage with the tips of his fingers, but this is definitely not the time.

~~~~~~

Illya spends the night at Napoleon's flat- the medical team had recommended someone watch Napoleon for an hour or two after their return to UNCLE headquarters, and they were both wired from the excitement- for Napoleon, the literal electricity- of the mission.

"Call in for some Chinese." Napoleon calls as soon as they arrive at his apartment. "I'm going to take a shower."

Illya drops his briefcase on the table by the couch and picks up the landline.

"Fine." He responds. "Try not to collapse in the bathtub."

The sound of running water fills the flat, and Illya slides his shoes off and stretches out along the couch, flipping through the takeout menu for the good Chinese place a few roads down, spends a few minutes musing between sweet and sour chicken and singapore noodles before deciding to not decide. He orders both, along with Napoleon's usual and a side of egg rolls.

"I hope you have cash," Napoleon says, shutting the water off, "because you most certainly owe me after the day we've had."

Illya rolls his eyes, but takes out his wallet nonetheless.

Solo emerges from the bedroom, having dressed in a casual dress shirt and a pair of slacks, running a hand through his hair, and nudges Illya's head out of the way so he can take a seat on the sofa.

~~~~~~

Illya's not sure who closes the distance first- one moment, their faces are merely very close together, the next their lips are crushed together. Illya's hands come up to cup Napoleon's face, and Napoleon's fingers slide around Illya's waist, pulling him even closer, until their bodies are flush against one another. It's a little awkward at first, teeth and tongue and their noses bump together, but more overwhelmingly it feels incredibly natural, as though this was where they had been headed all along.

Illya pulls away to breathe.

"Napoleon." He murmurs, soft breath gusting over Napoleon's face, and Solo tries to pull him back in for another kiss but Illya resists.

"What?" Napoleon asks.

Kuryakin smiles at him.

"I believe," he says, "this sort of activity would be more appropriately situated in the bedroom."

Solo chuckles and follows Illya as he stands and pulls him towards the bedroom, hands warm and sure, and when he kicks the door shut behind them Illya's fingers go immedietly to the buttons on his shirt, making short work of them.

"Do you have any idea," Kuryakin murmurs into his neck, pushing him backwards onto the bed, doing away with his own clothes, "what your act today did to me?" He slides atop Napoleon, applying his mouth to the other man's chest and unbuckling his trousers.

"Do tell." Napoleon gasps, arches his back when Illya's clever mouth finds his right nipple, closing around it, biting just enough to send electricity arcing through his veins, skipping along his nerves straight down into his cock. "Ah, Illya-"

"Seeing you," Illya says, between lavishing attention on Napoleon's nipples, "tied up, twitching," his hands travel downwards to apply firm, warm pressure on the sides of Napoleon's ribcage, "completely at my mercy-"

Napoleon chuckles breathlessly, sitting up to tug Illya properly onto the bed.

"Is that what you want?" He smirks. "Because I find I would quite enjoy that as well, my dear Kuryakin." Napoleon offers his wrists, palms up, and nods towards the bedside table- Illya, after an incredulous glance, leans over to open and rummage through it.

"Hmm." He murmurs, sorting through the contents of the drawer, letting a predatory grin creep up his face. "I should have known you'd like this, Napoleon." Illya takes out lube, a cock ring, and a pair of padded handcuffs and turns back to Solo.

Napoleon smiles at him. "As long as you promise that next time, I'm the one who gets to use these things on you." He leans inwards. "I enjoy playing both parts of the game."

"Mmm. Deal." Illya pushes Napoleon downwards, stretching upwards to fasten the cuffs around his wrists, threading them through the headboard, grinning mischeviously. He uses the length of rope to tie Napoleon's ankles to the ends of the bed, swiftly and securely, with military-approved knots that will allow him to undo them quickly, but will not give, no matter how hard Napoleon pulls at them.

Napoleon tests the bonds- they allow him to arch about an inch and a half above the bed, but restrict any movement.

"Very nicely done." He looks at Illya, a playful glint in his eye. "Good to see all those UNCLE training hours haven't gone to waste."

"Watch it, you." Illya slaps him lightly on the stomach and Napoleon jerks, cock already half-hard.

"Well," Napoleon says, slightly breathless, "you've got me, Mr. Kuryakin- what are you going to do with me?"

Illya smiles at him, a wicked smile that sends sparks shooting to Napoleon's groin, and he lifts his hips ever so slightly.

"What am I going to do with you, indeed." He murmurs, and licks his fingers, touching the tip of Napoleon's dick lightly. Solo's breath hitches. "What am I going to do with you, Solo?" He closes his fist around the other man's cock, stroking slowly, enough so that it stands at full attention, and Napoleon moans low and long in his throat.

"Tell me." He exhales. "Tell me, Illya."

Illya grins. "So demanding." He chuckles, and Napoleon finds that, while he may not have forseen this darkly sexual side of his partner, he finds it extraordinarily attractive. "Perhaps you need something to occupy that mouth of yours." Kuryakin tightens his grip around his penis, but doesn't speed up, much to Solo's chagrin. "Or maybe you'd enjoy getting fucked, yes?"

"As long as you do something." Napoleon gasps, and by now he's straining helplessly against the ties binding his limbs, hips arched off the bed.

"I think you would like that." Illya continues, unrelenting in the slide of his hand. "I could spread you out, slowly, with my fingers until you were begging for it, begging for something in your ass- or maybe my tongue, how does that sound?" Kuryakin is fully hard now, sitting heavily on Napoleon's thighs, pausing in his strokes to roll the man's balls between his fingers, smiling when Solo chokes and tries to heave upwards.

"Please," he says, "please, please, Illya-" and he groans when Illya picks up the until-now-neglected cock ring lying on the sheets and fastens it snugly around the base of his cock, preventing his release in the near future.

Illya hums and applies both his hands, dragging one thumbnail through the pre-cum drooling from his slit, pressing firmly at Solo's perinium with the other, relishing in the way the other man cries out and bucks fruitlessly- his cock is full and heavy, flushed a red matched only by the berry-stain of his cheeks, and Napoleon moans high and tight in the back of his throat.

"I could do this for ages, you know." Illya murmurs. "In the KGB, Russian soldiers are taught to stand perfectly still for hours with a fifty-pound pack on their backs- it teaches discipline, which you Americans are sorely lacking in."

Napoleon pants, "I resent the implication, you know- ah-" and jerks helplessly as Illya rubs particularly hard at the head of his cock.

"You lack discipline, Solo." Illya smiles. "Coming back from missions every week with a different woman on your arm, breaking their poor, naive hearts the next day-" He shifts forwards to grip their dicks together, his breathing coming faster now, "-ah, Napoleon-"

"Please, Illya-" Napoleon's near sobbing now, chest heaving, arms straining against the headboard, unable to do anything but accept whatver Illya deigns to give him. "Please, fuck me, touch me, do something-"

Illya laughs breathlessly. "Napoleon Solo," he says, releasing their cocks, grinning at Napoleon's helpless whine, "top UNCLE agent, begging for a cock in his ass." He leans downwards briefly to lave at a nipple, loving the way it pebbles against his tongue, and reaches into the drawer to draw out one of the objects he'd seen there earlier.

"Planning on using that?" Solo asks, panting, something eager in his voice.

"Would you like me to?"

Napoleon smiles, cheeks still flushed red. "Very much so."

Illya uncaps the lubricant, spreading a dollop on his fingers and moving towards the inside of Napoleon's thighs, teasing the rim for a moment before sinking his index finger in to the first knuckle. Napoleon groans and clenches down, trying desperately to get Illya's fingers deeper in him.

"Greedy." Illya chastises him, pushing his finger in deeper, smiling at how Napoleon twitches when he moves. "Do you want another?"

Napoleon hums in assention, gasping when Illya presses a second one in- there's a slight burn now, a perfect sting, and his mind short-circuits with blindingly bright pleasure when his partner begins to spread his fingers inside him, stretching the ring of muscle. He moans endlessly when Illya's fingertip curls roughly against his prostate.

"Yes." He pants. "Yes, Illya, more-"

Kuryakin continues to use his fingers, opening Napoleon up, before removing them and wiping his hand on the bedsheets- crude, he knows, but he aims to make Napoleon stain them several times before the night is out, anyways. He drizzles more lube on the vibrator he had removed from the bedside table before resting the blunt head of the plastic cock just barely on the ring of Napoleon's ass.

"Do you want this?" Illya murmurs. "Tell me you want this."

"What part of 'more' do you not understand?" Napoleon pants. "Blockheaded Russians-"

He's cut off as Illya eases the vibrator into him, his ass swallowing the head after minimal resistance, and Napoleon's always loved a bit of rough- it stretches his insides, perfectly thick and long and arced at just the right angle to press directly on his prostate. He groans. Illya doesn't give him a moment to adjust but draws it almost completely back out, the head catching on the clench of Napoleon's muscles, before thrusting back in, turning it so the head rubs deliciously on his insides.

"Perhaps I should just leave you here, like this." Illya says, twisting the base of the vibrator idly, faux-speculative- Napoleon can see the effect he's having on his partner, though. Illya's cock is red and thick and fully hard. "Tied up and desperate and unable to achieve release without someone to give it to you. Perhaps I should go and finish my work before attending to you."

Illya flicks the switch on the vibrator and presses it deeply, letting a wicked smile spread across his face at the high, desperate whine Napoleon lets leak out of his throat, arching helplessly against his bonds as the head vibrates irresistably against his prostate.

"Illya-" He gasps. "Illya, god, please, please, _please_." Napoleon rolls his hips, tries to fuck himself downwards onto the vibrator in his ass, feels tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. Illya smiles and reaches upwards to fondle Napoleon's cock, which is red and nearly pressed flush against his skin, the head smearing sticky precome against his stomach, elicting another desperate whimper from him. "God, Illya, I need-"

"What do you need, Napoleon?" Illya smirks, and it's so completely unfair, how he can be so articulate while taking Napoleon so completely apart. At least he doesn't look pristine- the blonde's usually neat hair is mussed and slightly sweat-damp, a few strands sticking to his forehead, and his lips are bitten red and swollen. They remind Napoleon of late-summer strawberries, juicy and sweet, and he wants to nibble them. Illya's eyes, though, have to be Napoleon's favorite part. They are chips of indigo, dark with lustful intent, purposefully mischevious and intensely focused at the same time. "Tell me."

Napoleon bucks.

"I'll tell you what I think you need." Illya murmurs. "Napoleon Solo, top American agent, Section 2- you need someone to put you in your place."

"As long that entails you fucking me," Napoleon gasps, "I'm all for it."

Illya growls at him and stops in his ministrations, pausing to enjoy the way Napoleon sobs in desperation when he turns off the vibrator and draws it out of him, and leans over him to make a grab at the bottle of lube.

"I'll tell you what I'm going to do, Napoleon." He mutters, uncapping the bottle and coating his palm liberally, allowing himself to stretch leisurely into his own fingers, spreading the lube onto his cock. "I'm going to fuck you."

Napoleon huffs. "Finally. Just get your cock in me, you big-"

He cries out when Illya finally, finally presses into him, breaching him, filling him incredibly.

"I'm going to fuck you, Napoleon." Illya growls in Napoleon's ear. "Ah- Napoleon- I'm going to take you, going to ruin you for anyone else. You're mine, Napoleon Solo- ah- Блядь-"

The edges of the Russian scrape along Napoleon's sides, leaving their red marks on his skin, making him arch upwards.

"Illya," he pants, "fuck, fuck, fuck me, please let me come-"

Illya bites into Napoleon's neck, the hot flare sparking through Napoleon's nerves. "You come when I say you come, Napoleon, not a moment before. I own you."

He continues to thrust into the other man, the head of his cock rubbing deliciously on Napoleon's prostate, sucking a livid red mark on the sensitive spot under his jawbone, right by his pulse point, alternating between applying his lips to Napoleon's skin and muttering filthy things into his neck.

Napoleon is completely off the bed now, sparks firing behind his eyes, moaning loudly- it echoes in the room, fueling Illya's efforts.

"Блядь. Napoleon, you're so loud- perhaps I should gag you, hmm? Something to keep that silver tongue of yours quiet for once." He makes one particularly hard thrust, grinning when Napoleon whines. "Or after this, maybe I'll make you suck my cock." Illya rocks into him, hands tight around Napoleon's torso.

"Please, Illya." In the back of his mind, Napoleon realizes that his begging must be getting repetitive, but it slips out of his mouth without his consent. "Please, let me-"

"So good." Illya pants. He's starting to unravel, hair sticking to his forehead, face flushed and red, eyes bright. "I would not even need to make you get on your knees for me, Solo, you would do it of your own volition- look at how eager you are, to get my cock in you any way you can- ah-" He exhales shakily. "Napoleon, ask me to come."

Napoleon sobs. "Illya, please, come- let me-"

Illya unbuckles the cock ring from its place around the base of Napoleon's penis and grips his cock in a warm, slick grip, and it takes two strokes to bring Napoleon apart- his brain short-circuits, whiting out in pleasure as he comes, ropes of come spurting from the head of his cock and splattering over his stomach. Illya groans long and low in his throat as he comes, spilling deep in Napoleon's ass.

"Illya," he gasps, "Illya, Illya, Illya-" It seems his vocabulary has narrowed down to one word- Illya, Illya, Illya.

Illya mutters nonsense in Russian into the sweat-slicked skin of Napoleon's neck, hips slowing to a stop, stilling with a sigh.

"Napoleon." He murmurs.

Napoleon blinks at him and smiles.

"Illya." He says. "Would you mind untying me?"

Illya chuckles, shifts and slips out of Napoleon, sits back on his haunches and deliberately strokes Napoleon's oversensitive cock, elicting a whimper from him.

"Ah- Illya, that's sensitive-"

The Russian smiles. "Maybe another time, then." He says before unbuckling the restraints around Solo's wrists and ankles, taking tissues from the bedside table to wipe the mess from the bed and Napoleon's stomach.

"Hmm." Napoleon stretches languidly, rubbing his wrists, shifting to his side. "That's an interesting prospect."

Illya rolls his eyes and tosses the tissues to the bin in the corner of the room, laying down and dragging a blanket up from the foot of the bed to cover them both. Napoleon turns and wraps his arms around the blonde, nuzzling his noze behind Illya's ear and the soft hair there.

"You're disgustingly clingy, you know that?" Illya complains, but melts into Solo's embrace nonetheless.

Napoleon smirks into his hair. "You love it."

Illya rolls his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> [come shame me about this 3k kink-filled pwp on tumblr](http://serpentinej.tumblr.com)


End file.
